


Heat

by Chillary_from_Cartagena



Category: Political RPF - US 20th c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chillary_from_Cartagena/pseuds/Chillary_from_Cartagena
Summary: A story set in 1975, when Bill and Hillary were still teaching law in Fayetteville and Bill had just bought the house they would later be married in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for some of this story comes from this article (they really used to sleep on the porch and I just had to think about something dirty): http://onlyinark.com/fayetteville-flyer/fayetteville-clinton-house-museum/
> 
> As always, this is 100% fiction and I don't want any trouble. English is not my first language, but I really like it ;)  
> And by the way, there's some plot an then there's the porn, don't worry ;D

Hillary wondered when exactly her life had turned into one of those classic southern novels: here she was, in the stifling hot kitchen of her new Fayetteville home, in the scorching kiss of Augusts’ last glimmers, organizing her notes for the upcoming semester and she couldn’t find respite.

She decided to go for the third shower of the day, hopefully the last before going to bed, since anything like concentrating seemed ten times more fucking complicated when you were distracted by your own short sleeved shirt sticking to your body like a slimy second skin.  
Bill, obviously, wasn’t fazed by it. He had breathed the South since he was born and it poured right out of his pores in his congenial and sunny personality – while leaving inside the withering bushes of everything that was unspoken.  
Well, she was the opposite, she wore her thorns on her outside, a protective barrier, but also her martyr crown when she got flogged by life and she always excused others over herself – said yes, she deserved it, turned the other cheek.  
Yes they complemented each other. But hot weather was fucking hot weather - no matter how charming your companion was - and it was getting on her nerves.

The attic fan was swirling groggily when she got into the bedroom to find a change of clothes for the night.  
Bill was reading on the bed, comfortable in his boxers and didn’t seem to mind the heat or the annoying fan, but she was just too fucking stressed today to wait until two in the morning to get tired enough so her mind could ignore the creaking sound the blasted thing let out at every turn, especially not when the start of the new semester was so near.  
Despite having put her permed hair up in a messy bun, if she closed her eyes she could describe in detail the exact path of the sweat drop that was running down the nape of her neck, driving her crazy.

“Ok, help me out” she started to tug at a corner of the mattress and he looked at her quizzically.  
“We’re dragging this thing on the porch, it’s too fucking hot in here”  
He didn’t want to contradict her, besides, the only furniture they had right now in the house was the iron bedpost and the kitchen table with its chairs. They were still waiting for the orange kitchen cabinets Hillary had chosen, so it truly didn’t make much difference if they slept on the mattress strewn on the floor.  
He knew how she didn’t really mind appearances that much and was always much more preoccupied by substance, but he thought that sleeping outside was a daring move for her, even though they had a screened in porch and it was in the back of the house.  
“Ok, love” he jumped out of the bed, threw the book he was reading on the disheveled sheet and together they accomplished their goal.

He had to concede that she had a point, there was at least a modicum of breeze that helped to prod along the banks of heavy air amassing like cattle.  
He looked at her while she pressed her marginally colder hand to her sweaty brow, the heat exhaustion readable in her open mouthed pants and the clothes sticking to her in the humid air.  
This woman, who would soon – hopefully – become _his_ woman, who had decided to tag along him in his trip towards the new milestone of owning a house of his own. Of their own. A place more difficult to escape, because it required way more than a simple notice to a landlord. This imperfect nest they were building, with its mismatched furniture and the disastrous tile work he had laid around the fireplace or the not-so-straight wallpaper he had hung in the kitchenette.  
Still, after all that she was here, dragging matresses, finding alternative and unorthodox paths instead of getting discouraged at the obstacles down their road.

And there were bigger ones in sight. They had both given notice of their address change to the University’s administrative office. And yes, they were living together before, but the head of the university had feigned not to notice their coinciding addresses, whether Mary, the girl now working part-time during the summer as a secretary and who engaged to a a fourth-year student, had noticed and spread the news. Professor Rodham and Professor Clinton, living together, unwed.  
Well, they still had a couple of days before addressing that rumor and those following. Many of his students had, in fact, been aides in his disastrous ’74 congressional bid, when Hillary was still working on the Nixon Impeachment, had seen his dalliances and had thought Hillary – who would always come down to straighten the tracks when his campaign was derailing - was just another flirt like the others.  
Besides, she was an ancient spinster, in rural Arkansas terms and how he - all but nicknamed Bill Charming of Arkansas - could be in love with her, even lust after her, escaped everyone - including his mother.  
Everyone but him.  
And putting aside all his childhood issues she was the only one who seemed to comprehend (that psychology minor at Wellesley and the knowledge of her mother’s struggles seemed to have shaped the perfect matching puzzle piece for his own demons), he was smitten by her.

He was gone into the kitchen to fetch a jug of cold water and two glasses to keep outside with them, when she emerged from the bathroom refreshed, her hair down once again, wearing a sleeveless mix between a negligee and a light nightgown, which hit definitely well above mid tigh and which Virginia had gifted her.  
Not really out of love, but in the hopes she would take a liking to frilly nightwear which, in her opinion, was the key to begin Hillary’s transformation into a belle (if not during the day, at least during the night) so she would finally get pregnant and decide to marry Bill.  
Because that’s how things worked in his mother’s view. And Hillary was a churchgoer, so the pill would clearly be a sin for her, right?  
The garment was white, mostly made of cotton, cinched at the waist and it complimented her beautifully. He had to give it to his mother: in contrast to him she hated Hillary’s hips (“Well, Billy, there’s a reason why they call them “birthing hips”, at least you won’t have trouble with the pregnancy that time she’ll make you forget to pull out”), but had noticed her tiny waist and had decided Hillary could at least try to capitalize on that and despite hating the premise, he really liked the result.

He hated all those critics, he hated them because they never comprehended how he could feel he wasn’t good enough for her, didn’t see how she outsmarted him by a mile just because they were too focused on her boobs (“Too small for her hips. But maybe if she finally finds a librarian or somethin’ who knocks up they’ll reach a decent size… Oh, good morning professor Clinton, we were talking about the new arrival…”), how he sometimes fooled around to make sure she would always come back to him, never fly again over to DC and find a smart Senator - maybe even the possible next President of The United States- and settled down with him there.

In her virgin Dickinson-white dress, with a soul and wit to match the poet’s, she sauntered past him, soft curls and proud profile, with her bright blue eyes shining like gems, resembling a preraphaellite painting.  
He could swear in an earlier life she must have been John Williams Waterhouse’s pale girl from the “Windflowers” painting: she sure had all the grace an sweetness of the subject and he thought she looked like her too.  
She had never used the nightgown before, but he supposed with all the boxes still left to unpack after they had moved here and the rate at which they went through clothes in the stifling heat, it was one of the last light enough garments left, since she normally didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in the nude.  
Well, for all her defects, his mother at least had taste. Hearing the rustle of the crisp, cool clothes and smelling the whiff of sweet flowery soap as she passed him to get out on the porch, awakened inside him a different kind of heat.

He put a large handful of ice cubes in the jug, popping one in his mouth. Drops ran in rivulets among the condensation on the glass and a different kind found its way down his temple: he never broke a sweat for the temperature, but this was his own internal thermometer rising.  
He silently observed her form, lying on her belly basking in the light streaming out from the kitchenette window: she had discarded her glasses and now her arms were extended in front of her, holding the book he was previously reading, curiously perusing it. Her breasts were squeezed down on the mattress, their soft curves now peeking with their inviting swell from the top of her nightie, while her ass rose in two perfect hills, the bottom half of it clearly visible as the frilly garment had ridden up her thigh when she had flung herself on the mattress.  
She was absentmindedly making rhythmic movements with her feet, drawing slow circles with her ankles, then she bent her legs and started to cross and uncross them.  
He thought she looked like the perfect copy those 50s pinups in their half-decent, but provocative, poses. And he was quite the expert, because God only knew how much jerk off material they had provided in his sexually formative years.

He could spot her set of peace rose colored panties, the material of which he couldn’t identify, but was were clearly less substantial than the cotton of the nightgown, since he could make out the soft enticing outline of her folds every time he got a peak of her crotch.  
Feeling his arousal grow, he exited to the porch, but left the light of the kitchen on and neared the mattress nonchalantly. He softly put down the jug and the glasses on the ground, then slid gracefully on the mattress, stretching his long body like a drowsy lion. She was prey and she didn’t eve suspect it: she was still thumbing the book while paying no attention to him.

Sneakily he took another ice cube from the jug, still unnoticed by her, and with a quick gesture he took the icy pellet and drew the outline of her soft butt cheeks right where they joined with her thigh. She let out a short defensive shriek, dropped the book and scrambled to her elbows, trying to angle her behind away from him, but he was quicker and laid himself over her, not perfectly alligned, angling his hips so that his arousal was now pressing right against her sex. He also pressed his hand gently, but with firm conviction, down the back of her neck and murmured in her ear in his singsong accent:  
“Now stay down, no need to worry, my love”

“Yeah yeah, what the fuck, Bill! It was fucking cold, what did you think would happen?”  
“Well sure it is, but I’m cooling you down before I get you all hot and bothered again” he said, while moving his pelvis fractionally to cause an arousing frisson against her labia through her panties .  
She groaned.  
“But I’ve just showered…”  
“And while I always love you, even when you smell a bit, your perfume made it even more impossible for me to resist you, my love”  
She dropped her head back on the mattress. This was a battle she probably wasn’t going to win, so better enjoy the process. He kissed her cheek with a cool kiss, still icy from the chip he had just melted in his mouth, then moved the thick bulk of her curly hair covering her neck to the side and resumed the trail of the ice chip down, tracing out her spine, delighted in the goosebumps and little shivers that spread from her back down her naked arms.

He then continued his trail of kisses following the path of the little cube, his hot wet mouth latching onto her skin in sloppy kisses, while he cooled down her shoulders and arms. The little cube had totally melted, so he rose himself on his strong arms, still grinding his pelvis against her soft, heating center and reached for another cube.  
“Now _stay_ " he said in a commanding tone and she maintained her prone position, her legs parted and her arms outstretched, submitting to him without protest. He kneeled between her legs and dragged the cube up her inner thighs, observing the golden glow that hit the soft hair of her back, normally invisible unless under close scrutiny in the right light. She was struggling to keep her legs open, she wanted to close them together shield them from his chilling attacks, but she was following his previous order and he was so proud of his good girl.  
He could smell her arousal, she was probably getting all hot and wet under the barrier of her thin panties, the anticipation of pleasure, without a definite knowledge of his intentions, just adding to her arousal.

They were very creative in bed. And she didn’t mind it a bit. Beides, they always had code words and gestures to stop any activity from getting uncomfortable. Gestures, yes, because sometimes it was pretty difficult for her to speak against a gag. Or his hand. Or his cock shoved down her throat.  
Well, today was going to be vanilla compared to their wildest enterprises, but it didn’t mean there weren’t going to be any games involved.  
He continued to idly drag the ice cube in lazy circles, until he finally rubbed it on his target from the beginning. He moved the half-melted ice chip, pressing it right into the crotch of her panties and let the cool wet liquid soak them.  
She bit her lip and made a fleetingly pained expression, letting out little sobs. She wasn’t actualliy in pain, but the sudden contrast of the coldness against her slick hot folds wasn’t exactly a turn on. It didn’t last long, though, because even though the panties stayed wet, they immediately regained their previous temperature, helped by the large hand now palming her crotch, which belonged to the man now stroking her and saying “Sorry, sorry love…”.  
Hurting and soothing. That seemed to be the whole pattern of their relationship.

With her panties now drenched, the press of his hand was amplified tenfolds, now that the material stuck to her skin he could clearly feel the outline of her slit with his massaging hand. In the cajoling tone one would use with a child he added come “Come here, baby… I’ll make it all right for you, sorry about before. Forgive me?”  
While he was saying this he rolled off of her and repositioned her, draped over him, her chest pressed against his, one of his hands caressing her hair and nape, the other arm slung over her back, with his hand dipping down her nightie from behind to press on her panties, up and down her slit, drawing circles in the area of her clit, warming up her privates again and offering a tempting stimulation, so exciting that it was hard for her to keep from grinding back.  
She was resolute to make her displeasure known for a while longer, but he started to kiss her pout away, running his tongue against her lower lip, finally getting access to her mouth to draw long and languid kisses that gave both a sense of peace and joy, while still maintaining the sexually charge atmosphere of their encounter. There was a communion of pleasurable sighs and sweet nothings as they continued to kiss, their mouths, cheeks, eyelids, while his hands got more daring and slipped under the elastic band of her panties to dip just his forefinger inside, while she ground with imperceptible movements against his hardness, as little sparks of pleasure blossomed from that stimulation of her clit.

She mewled in time with the dips of his digit into her and she started to move a little more, finally staring at him pleadingly, her head tilted up from her comfortable spot on his pectoral.  
“Please Bill, can you finger me? Pretty please?” she felt him buck his hips at her pleading tone: she knew he got always excited when she played the good little girl and asked pretty please and if he could do something dirty to her to alleviate the ache accumulating in her pants, because she couldn’t take the teasing anymore.  
And she really wanted his long fingers deep inside her, so asking him directly was the fastest way to finally get some pounding into her. His cock would have done the charm, but he always liked to make sure they both came when he finally slipped inside her, so since he was likely to finish before she could orgasm, his fingers were the next best thing.  
He wanted to, he truly did. His pull to her was inescapable, but he just had to maintain the upper hand, he couldn’t give in so easily to her cajoling: he was trying to train himself for the future and was committed not to capitulate to anyone at the first wriggle of ass thrown his way. He knew he had a problem with subservient nymphets, so he thought it was best to cease contact for a second and let himself cool down.

“No” he retreated his hands completely from her.  
“What do you mean, no?” grinding her lower half more fully against him while rising herself on her elbows to better look at his face, and digging uncomfortably into his chest in the process.  
“Ow” he exaggerated the slight pain she had caused with her elbows and pushed her away from his chest, prodding her to retake her previous spot next to him, severing any connection he had with her skin.  
“I’ve said I don’t want to” he repeated at her incredulous gaze.

“You piece of shit. You are ridiculous: you first come at me and do that shit with those freaking ice cubes, I get all wet, you get this thing in your pants” she threw her arm out, pointing with her hand at the tenting in his boxers “but when I ask you if you can fucking stick your fingers inside me you say no? Well you’re really a scumbag. And I can take care of myself”  
He had to suppress a smile at her string of expletives and that snicker got her riled up even more.  
“You sonofabitch. You’ll see how I’ll get you. And when you’ll finally ask me to sink down on your cock I’ll just leave you hanging and you’ll see how you’ll like that”.  
She knew they were teasing each other, she knew that at one point they were going to end up fucking hard, but she wasn’t going to let this evening be a one man show. He wanted to play the diva? Well, she was going to fucking show him.

She got up and vanished n the kitchen, pleased at the puzzled look on Bill’s face. She put on a record on, something jazzy and sensual from Bill’s collection and as the music began to filter on the porch through the open kitchen window, she stood in on the door threshold, one arm raised caressing the doorframe sensually, as the light filtered from behind her outlining her silhouette.  
“If there’s one of those creeps with binoculars in the houses down there, it’s his lucky night because he’s in for the show of his life, mark my words” she said to him, advancing suavely, her bare foots making soft sounds against the wooden planks of the porch.  
He sat up, relaxed, in a lounging pose, propping himself on his elbows and adjusting his legs to better accommodate his unfaltering erection. She began to sensually sway, caressing her body with her own hands, pressing on her sides and travelling upwards in a slow tease. She then cupped her beasts, squeezing, tugging at her nipples through the nightgown until he could unmistakably make out their outline even from the distance.  
All the while, she was biting her lower lip, throwing her head back while moaning softly she brought a hand to her neck and then dipped it under the fabric to roll a nipple between thumb and index. She moved her hair to one side and with slow movements lowered the strap of the negligee down her shoulder, giving him a better view of her creamy breast and a peak of her dusky nipple.  
She then removed her hand from her strap to dip down, under the short hem of her nightie, between her legs. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but her sighs and the other hand that moved from her nipple to brush against her wet lips made it clear what kind of stimulation she was providing herself.

She then switched hands, the one first on her panties was sliding up the hem of her nightie, giving him a beautful view the panties wet from his little experiment, which in their newfound transparency teased him showing the outline of the triangular patch of her soft curls, like an arrow bringing his gaze to point at her sex. And she made sure his sight was concentrated there, because she now slid the other hand under her panties and opened up her legs slightly.  
From the movement happening down there, he could surmise she was teasing her clit and the hand keeping her nightie up now slid under the edge of the negligee to find its way to her breasts and tease them some more.  
He could now see a sliver of her peach-skinned belly, always so soft when he ran his hand over it and kissed it lightly when they made tender love, when he would press his large hand to calm the tremors of her abdomen clenching in pleasure as she reached her peak.  
She moved her hands away from her body, her short nightie cascading softly back into place and she reached under it to slide her panties down. It was frustrating, he couldn’t really see anything, even from his perspective, but she reached down to free the underwear from her ankle and threw it in his direction.

“I know you like your little trophies, Bill” she said in a mocking tone, then turned her back to him and stood facing the wall in front of her, opening her legs and planting her feet, the space between them just as wide as her shoulders, her cheek pressed to the warm surface and her hands raised at the sides or her head, palm-flat against the surface.  
“Do you remember taking me like this in the utility closet of the university, snatching my panties to keep them in your pocket for the remainder of the day? I was lucky a had a long skirt on, but still… and you didn’t shy away from fucking me that day… oh no…” her voice was husky and she moved one hand down to enter her pussy with two fingers, lifting the night gown up with the other, making sure he saw. She wasn’t fingering herself gently, rather, she was mimicking their encounter, sobbing slightly with each deep and forceful thrust of her fingers inside her. She was trying to press her breasts against the wall to get more stimulation, but in the current situation she just couldn’t. She turned around and leaned with her back on the wall for support, while she started to pump more rapidly, moving her other hand to circle her clit. It was too much for him to stay still, so he moved his hand to finally grip his erection. The glimmer of fury in her eyes was sudden and almost frightening.

“Oh no, don’t you dare, you piece of shit. You didn’t want to get me off and you’re not getting off yourself”, she disentangled her hands, took a couple of steps to step on the mattress and planted her foot on his crotch to stop him, not painfully, but enough to limit his movements.  
His reaction was quick: they had waited long enough, they were both charged with rage and arousal at the same time. He lounged in her direction, grabbed her by her hips and in a carefully calculated move he wrestled her to the mattress, pinning her hands over her head, kissing her roughly and panting: “You’re the one who started this battle and now what? Fight me if you can.”

Her eyes burning with rage and desire, she devoured his mouth and suddenly bit at his lower lip. His jolt of surprise gave her the upper hand to free her wrists and rake her nails down his back, then squeeze his ass forcefully and bring his hips tighter against hers, while she wrapped her legs around him.  
He bit down where her neck met her shoulder and she grunted in his ear “Fuck me. Now. This is the last time I’m telling you, otherwise you can just fuck off tonight”  
“Yeah?” he asked while breathing heavily and watched her steely blue eyes.  
“Yeah” she answered and kissed him once again, animalistic and forceful but with a strange sweetness intermixed in it.

He responded enthusiastically, twining his tongue with hers, exchanging small bites while he lowered his boxers and finally entered her with a sigh of relief and a strangled hitch in his breath. They stilled for a moment, their foreheads against each other’s, their eyes closed to let the first overwhelming rush of sensations roll over them, then she anchored one hand behind his neck, while the other was still raking up and down his shoulder blades and repeated her previous order: “Fuck me. Now.”

He started to move inside her, leaving her breathless and whispering “God, Bill, yes…. Yes…” as he grabbed her thigh to bring a leg up and penetrate her deeper. She dug her nails into his back, right when a delicious pang hit her, a foreshadowing of the pleasure to come.  
He was kissing her everywhere he could reach, aimlessly, with his eyes closed as the sensations where overwhelming and her enthusiastic whispers were driving him precipitously close to his release.  
He opened his eyes for a second and met her gaze, lusty and loving, fierce but pleading.  
“Harder, Bill, fuck me harder”.  
He groaned and hid his face in the crook of her neck as he pressed closer to her body and concentrated his energy into his forceful thrusts, deep inside her tight pussy, now contracting even tighter around his member, while he uttered small cries and broken sentences “love you baby… so fucking tight… you’re so beautiful… I love you Hilly” as she continued a broken lythany of her own “I love you, I love you…. Feels so good…”

She felt the surge of her orgasm, like a heat wave stunning her senses. She didn’t even have to touch her nerve bundle, because the flames spread from inside her, a cry getting stuck in her throat as she felt her walls clamp down on him, a scream of ecstasy silent in the perfect O of her mouth, her breath cut short by the overwhelming sensations of toe curling pleasure.  
He felt het tight, impossible tight, and as his breath ragged with his last delicious thrusts he could only utter her name “Hil-la-ryyy!” before spilling himself inside her, the ultimate joining of bodies and souls.  
He collapsed exhausted on her, rolling to the side not to crush her. After a couple of steadying breaths he looked at her, eyes still close, biting down on her lower lip. He didn’t recall any of them stimulating her clitoris, so he could understand how she was still feeling the aftershocks of her intense pleasure.  
While she was still unmoving, he gently rolled her on her side embracing her loosely, and as she burrowed her head in his chest he stroke her hair soothingly . He was spent, but she probably still had a round or two in her, so he wanted to make it worth her while. And since he had been an ass before, it was only fair. 

He lifted the hem of her nightgown and tried to pull it up over her, in an effort to remove the offending garment. She had come down from her high now and lifting her head from his chest to look him in the eyes, she asked him, licking her parched lips “What are you doing, Bill?”  
He sat up and filled one of the glasses, then helped her drink by tenderly holding her head up. Some of the liquid spilled over her nightie and he whispered softly “C’mon, Hillary, let’s take this off.”  
Still a little hazy from the heat and her pleasure, she complied without question, little hitches in her breath when the cotton brushed against her oversensitive nipples. He caressed her face and then rolled her on the other side to spoon her, his cool body and her nakedness relieving her from the hot temperature.  
He kissed the nape of her neck and caressed her stomach with his large hand. Almost automatically, she wriggled her bottom slightly and he chuckled at her eagerness.  
“Sorry love, I think I have to call it a night, but you, on the other hand…” he whispered suggestively, still in between kisses to her nape “…if you want I can finally fulfill that request you made earlier…”  
As she felt his hand dipping lower to cup her sensitive sex, a lone moan escaped her lips. And she breathed “Yes.”

The end 

**Author's Note:**

> I know it was less hot than my previous one (maybe because it was less daring), but I hope you liked it anyway! Till next time, lovelies!


End file.
